


Don't Want To Let Go

by persiflet



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alien Planet, Angst, Deteriorating Relationship, Established Relationship, Holding Hands, Multi, OT3, Picnics, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-25
Updated: 2011-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 00:51:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persiflet/pseuds/persiflet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Apalapucia, the Doctor finally takes them to the Eye of Orion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Want To Let Go

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: high G for general angst  
> Characters/Ship: Amy/Eleven/Rory  
> Summary: quick OT3 ficlet, mostly written for the image of them lying in wet grass holding hands.  
> Warnings: pre-break up fic?, Amy having an identity crisis

After Apalapucia, the Doctor finally takes them to the Eye of Orion. If it's an attempt at an apology, it's not really good enough. If it's just a kind gesture, Rory thinks, he can accept it as what it is. Amy is lost in her own thoughts. Still, she tries to push them out of the way and enjoy their newest adventure.

"I did check beforehand," the Doctor says self consciously. "Nothing ever happens here. Ever. Except for that one time in the Century of the Frog but that wasn't entirely my fault."

Still, once he's out of the TARDIS he waves his screwdriver about a bit before waving at his companions to come join him. Rory deliberately doesn't hesitate at the threshold. If there's one thing their adventure with House taught him, it's that even their magical box isn't always the safe home it appears to be.

"Over here," the Doctor calls, ambling over to a trailhead. Nothing much is visible through the fog. The ground is very green, and dotted with tan speckled rocks of various size ranging from boulder to pebble.

Amy follows him, a skip forming in her step semi-automatically. The gravel of the trail crunches under her converses. The air is cool but not uncomfortably chilly. Ahead of her, she can see the figure of the Doctor, a dark scarecrow in his long coat. Rory catches up to her and catches up her hand. She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek, then shakes herself loose. She wants to be free to amble along at her own variegated internal pace.

The way becomes slightly more difficult when the Doctor leads them the trail to clamber through a pile of ruins. Rory shivers at the sight of broken figures, their features blurred by precipitation, thinking of Roman ruins and the death of civilizations. Amy's converses don't offer much traction on the smooth marble-like substance, but she scrambles recklessly on. Maybe part of her is thinking of the gallery at Apalapucia. Most of her isn't.

Past the ruins they come to an open space where the mist breaks somewhat, and there's a broad view over many acres of land, all apparently much the same as what they've already covered, green and full of ruins. They're standing on a long, slightly damp field on top of what is apparently a ridge at the top of a row of hills. There's a stone obelisk in the center of the field, a little taller than Amy. At first she assumes it's just one more broken fragment of a lost civilization, but on closer inspection the stone is different from any kind she's seen so far. The Doctor gazes at it for only a moment, then he looks away, but continues to stand by the obelisk looking down at the grass, his expression one Amy's become far too familiar with. She looks at the obelisk again and realizes it's a memorial.

"What's it for?" Rory asks. He watches Amy run her slender pale fingers over the stone, remembers how thick and callused and beautiful her hands had been gripping a sword.

"It's a memorial to the Time War," the Doctor said, still not looking up.

"The Time War?" Rory asked. The Doctor didn't answer. Rory remembered the chill in his voice when he'd answered House's bravado: Fear me. I've killed them all. He doesn't push the subject.

The sun comes out and the mist begins to clear away. The Doctor reaches into his left coat pocket and gradually pulls out an entire checkered tablecloth. Amy stares. "There is no way you fit all that in there."

"Fourth-dimensional pockets," he replies smugly. "Bigger on the inside."

Amy and Rory spread out the tablecloth on the drying grass while the Doctor produces more wonders from his extremely elastic pockets. Scones. Jam. A teapot, which he apparently only needs to sonic for it to begin to whistle cheerfully. A loaf of soda bread and an angelfood cake. They all sit down and begin to feast.

"This is so... nice," Amy comments.

"Constant bombardment by positive ions," the Doctor says. "Most tranquil place in the universe. Used to be a vacation resort, actually. Well. Actually it never was a vacation resort. Only in my memory. The people that built the resorts died out before they could build them. Nothing nasty, just... gradual population decrease."

"It's nice," Amy says. She finishes her slice of cake and collapses with a sigh, her head resting on the Doctor's knobbly knees and her long legs pressing on Rory's stomach.

"Get off," Rory says with a lazy, good-natured shove.

The Doctor sighs and flopped over too, curled on one side. Rory reaches over and begins to play with his hair, which is long and soft. He looks so harmless, like that.

They lay there for a few hours, sometimes exchanging a few sentences of nonsensical conversation, occasionally shifting to a more comfortable position. The sun appears from out of the clouds and inches its way across the sky. The Doctor tidies up the picnic things and fits them back into his magic coat somehow. Amy goes on a brief expedition to the nearest ruins and returns with a chunk of stone, complex patterns covering one chipped side. Rory falls asleep in the Doctor's lap, and waskes up to find Amy draped over him, her eyeballs twitching in REM sleep.

When it begins to grow dark, the Doctor suddenly sits up. His human companions are reluctant to follow suit.

"You have to see this," the Doctor says. "Most beautiful moonset in... well, this galaxy, at least."

"Doctor," Amy says. "In a moment." She takes one of his hands, and Rory takes the other. They pull him back down, and join their own hands together. The grass is fresh and sweet-smelling and slightly ticklish. Amy holds on tight. She isn't sure who she is right now, who she wants to be, and when she thinks about the other her, the one who wielded a sword and hated the Doctor, she's afraid the person she wants to be might be someone completely alien to the life she has right now.

Rory holds on tighter. He loves them both, and it scares him, because he's terribly afraid that he and Amy are going to have to leave soon, have to give up this life before it changes them both irrevocably and beyond repair.

The Doctor rests in their grip and feels sadness and confusion. These are not alien emotions to him, and he's grown very good at pushing them down below into the writhing morass in the dark places he never ever looks at. He remembers back when he was younger, when all this was so much easier. It hurts more, each time they leave. He's getting older, and more lonely.

Eventually they all let go and look at the lovely moonset, and then they go back to the TARDIS, Rory and Amy to their warm bed and their companion to his tinkering and the one friend who will never judge him and never leave.


End file.
